


Rewind

by bbvqueen



Series: The Venom In Our Veins [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Complete irrevocable submission, D/s, Disturbing Themes, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, M/M, Manipulation, Mindfuck, POV Second Person, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Violence, also overt jealousy, big boss is insane and thats okay, dark themes, medic hates kaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 17:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbvqueen/pseuds/bbvqueen
Summary: I’ve already made my only choice a long time ago.(1971-1974)





	Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Rosa for giving me BBM feels. also this is sweet dreams verse sorry

More than others, you do take your time to observe before making an informed decision. It’s tempting to forego patience, to act on impulse or personal feelings, and later regret what was done - for someone trained in medicine and sworn to protect lives, this is doubly true. Missing a tiny detail is enough for a fatal mistake - an error of judgment leading to an undesirable outcome. Life’s end, in some cases.

From day one, you’ve watched him, out of the shadows. Followed him anywhere as you’d made him the centerpiece of your newest study, inexplicably fascinated not just by physical performance, but behavior as well, and how he interacted with his environment. You had understood from the beginning that he was an Alpha - a rogue soldier with outstanding leadership capabilities, easily able to gather many others of his kind around him and ensure their loyalty, even though he could offer little in turn. Like your comrades, you could clearly grasp the overall image in front of you; his alluring qualities that came with lowering himself, outwardly, to the same status as his followers. A remarkable man, but still just a man. He laughed and he cried and he hurt with the rest of them.

You, though, have never been satisfied by the wholesome facade he presented - no, what kept you there where the little cracks, visible only at certain angles, and what shone through them. The creature that was hiding underneath, under layers of scar tissue that had closed and grown over the worst of his wounds.

Within six months, you’d not only been promoted to second-in-command, you’d also internalized all of Big Boss’s habits, tics, speech patterns and mannerisms, to the point where you could even emulate them at will in order to subtly manipulate those ranking lower than you - sometimes a vague gesture or slight modulation of your voice was enough to instill some kind of latent, paralyzing terror, and while you were not the kind to take advantage of others, those few harmless instances had nontheless been thrilling in a way that you found impossible to describe.

But even that knowledge had not been enough to make you stay. No, habitual liars were a dime a dozen, especially among superiors, and you were resilient. There were others deserving and more in need of your talents. Once you’d learned everything there was to learn and your study concluded, you would move on. You weren’t desperate enough to throw yourself at the first man that thought he could own you.

If you were to end a life, you would make an informed decision. Just the one. You wanted to give it to _one_ man, not to any man.

* * *

You made your decision on a humid August night, tepid rain battering relentlessly against the tattered flaps of your field tent, **QUARANTINE** scribbled across them in bold, runny letters, barely legible. But even without them, the men knew better than to come too close, and even their irrational love for their commander wouldn’t overpower their desire for self-preservation, especially when he was in no condition to even acknowledge them.

No, perhaps the real reason was that no one wanted to see him like this, like a mortal man at the brink of death, destroying the fantasy they had built up in their own minds. No way the legendary Big Boss could be taken down by something so… mundane.

It had been about two weeks ago when you’d first noticed the slightest change in the Boss’s condition, the week after he’d returned from negotiations with a client in Bogotá. He was not one to catch colds, with a naturally strong immune system, so fatigue setting in earlier than usual had set your alarm bells off instantly. A loss of appetite followed, then a rise in body temperature, and you’d insisted on a blood sample, much to the annoyance of your commander.

“It’s just a damn cold,” he’d said, inconspicuously rubbing his neck with the ball of his thumb. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

You’d pointedly ignored his complaints, and stabbed the needle of the syringe into his vein anyway.

“Did you bring back med supplies like I asked you to?”

“I already told you no three times,” he sighed; giving half-assed excuses like before, and arguing that they still had enough because he’d trained the men well and they barely ever suffered injuries.

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply with detached professionalism this time.

“Why are you such a fucking idiot?”

You glared at him. It was the first time you’d done away with pretenses, scolded him openly rather than implicitly. He inhaled sharply, stunned by the sudden shift in your tone and expression. No one talked to him like this. You withdrew the needle, disinfected the puncture again, and applied a band-aid.

“I bet you couldn’t be bothered to wash your hands at all during that little business trip again, or cover up your body. Better yet, you ate some fish you caught with your bare hands in a random, nasty, bug-infested puddle. Which was it? Why are you so disgusting? Why do you keep doing this to your body? _Why?_ ”

“Don’t you - “

“I speak to you however I damn well please,” you snapped, preventing his instinctual assertion of dominance before it could commence. “If no one else is going to be frank with you - if no one else is going to tell you the truth - I will. Don’t you fucking leave this tent. Not before I’m done with this.”

A little while later, your suspicious were confirmed, and you decided that Big Boss wouldn’t be leaving your tent for weeks to come - either that, or he would only leave in a body bag. He’d come down with typhoid fever, and thanks to his negligence you were running low on both vaccinations and suitable antibiotics. After the diagnosis, you’d administered as much to him and the men as you could, but none to yourself. You didn’t need to tell them that the fever was contagious, and highly lethal if insufficiently treated. They were to keep their distance from the medical tent - particularly those not vaccinated. You assigned temporary command of the the entire outfit to a veteran in the intel unit, and suspended all operations, aside from sending another team to Bogotá to get the supplies Big Boss hadn’t bothered with. You’d ordered them to sweep the entire camp, sterilizing anything and any _one_ that could’ve possibly been touched by Big Boss, and burying the majority of the food supplies. Men that had been in close contact with Big Boss in the past few days were to be observed for any unusual symptoms, and reported immediately should they occur.

After doing as much damage control as possible, you’d returned to your - Big Boss’s, now - tent; firmly stating that you would be the only one allowed in there until the situation improved. But you knew full-well it would get worse, way worse, before your commander would be his old self again - if ever.

And somehow, you knew, this would be the point where your study would have a breakthrough. You only really know a man when you know him at his worst.

He suffered all symptoms of typhoid you knew, and in an intensity you’d never seen before. Rashes, headaches, cramps, diarrhea and frequent vomiting. In the middle of week two, he’d stopped complaining about not being able to smoke or leave the tent, too weak and delirious to even stand upright anymore. He couldn’t eat - only drink water in irregular intervals, and he threw up even that, together with the few antibiotics you had.

If you were entirely honest with yourself, you doubted he would make it. You felt the fight leaving him, which you found untypical. Curious. But even then you stayed, never leaving his side, sleeping right next to him during the short periods his fever subsided, and the exhaustion of caring for him overtook you. You thought that it was out of a sense of duty, at the time - your obligation as a doctor. To preserve human life in all its forms, no matter how or why or who…

It was that night, tropical rain battering against the tattered flaps of your tent, declared **QUARANTINE** , that it occured to you that you’d made a decision without realizing it.

**(THIS SICKNESS IS CONTAGIOUS AND THERE IS NO CURE)**

You rested your eyes, sitting at the side of his cot, listening to his shallow, haggard wheezing. The relentless patter of rain, seeping into the tender soil, dripping off the palm leaves.

**(IF YOU ARE SICK THEN SO AM I)**

It was poison that leaked through the cracks, which grew bigger with each hour that passed, until your Boss’s mental defenses crumbled completely, and his internal tape rewound to the beginning.

He confessed his sins, and you listened. You were neither religious nor a priest and couldn’t offer absolution, but you could look at the real him without judgment, softly touching your fingers to the scarred skin around his right eye, the pupil milky white and unseeing.

“Please let me die,” he begged you, thinly, just a whisper. He was in some faraway place, his fever the highest it had been up to that point. Would death be mercy? Or a punishment? Relief, or something he deserved?

“I can’t,” you said, your own voice and mind strained with fatigue, feeling as if his fever had had finally caught onto you. You wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Why?”

At the core, it wasn’t about duty, you realized. That was just the surface, what other people saw. Below that was a depth - something raw and primal - that was hard to adequately put into words. Suffering was intrinsic, natural, and not something that could be cured permanently, only mitigated temporarily. Some people had no choice but to live with it, paralyzed and unable to run away. They passed it on to it to others. Pain breeds pain. Even you could recognize this as a fact, and adapt to the cognitive dissonance.

Wasn’t that why you’d become a doctor?

Wasn’t that why you’d become a soldier?

**(AND IF I CANT SAVE YOU I WILL SHARE THIS PAIN WITH YOU)**

“I want to give you everything,” you murmured, all your senses - your entire being - zoning in on him. There was nothing else. No other men, no rain, no distractions.

“I want to be yours. This is my choice.”

He looked at you dully. Resigned.

“Everyone…” He started, but trailed off. You knew exactly what he wanted to say. You knew exactly how he felt, how selfish you really were. What made you different from all the other people he surrounded himself with? You too will leave, one day, when you’re finished -

And you said firmly, “I mean it. I’ve waited all my life for you. You know who I am, and I know who you are -”

“You don’t know me at all,” was his broken reply, and in his fragile state, vulnerable and defenseless, he could do very little to stop you from pressing your lips to his temple, his brow, his eyelid, before they finally hovered over his open mouth, and you inhaled his raspy breath.

“Then show me,” were the last words you said before diving between his dry lips, intoxicated, and instantly addicted.

* * *

Of course, both you and Big Boss survived the fever. In the fourth week, his condition improved significantly, and you probably had to thank the men speedily returning with the requested antibiotics for that. You never showed any symptoms yourself, not that you recall, and you intentionally kept one piece of knowledge to yourself - how a small percentage of the people infected by typhoid became carriers themselves - permanent hosts for the bacteria, which could lead to another potential outbreak in the future. It didn’t matter. Your men were overjoyed, and you the savior of not only the Boss, but the entire unit.

After some months, you officially declared MSF typhoid free. You lectured the men on being more careful and how to avoid common diseases in the regions they operated in. Big Boss fulfilled all your requests for medical supplies, too. You noted, pleased, that he washed his hands more often.

But you never talked about that one night, at the peak of his illness. When you thought about it, you weren’t sure yourself if it had been just a fever dream, an elaborate fantasy of your own; the taste of ash lingering in your mouth simply imagined. And even if it wasn’t, for Big Boss it certainly had been nothing more than a dream, easily forgotten when he’d returned to his usual self. Perhaps it was better that way.

It didn’t change that you’d made your decision, an oath to yourself if not to him. You’d chosen him, and you would stay, watch over him for the rest of your life like you’d watched over him during those harrowing weeks. If you would risk your own life so naturally, without a second thought despite what you’d learned about him, you retained no doubt that Big Boss was the one to own you.

* * *

That he liked to own many people at once was a fact you’d never denied. When people didn’t come to him voluntarily, he chased those down he had taken an interest in himself, utilizing all the weapons and tactics at his disposal. You continued to learn when he recruited Kazuhira Miller - a venomous snake right from the start, toxic, and unpredictable. Your Boss liked that type, the one that would try to wrestle control from him, bring him face to face with his own mortality. He found it hard to live without the thrill of the hunt, the danger that came with keeping men that were the complete opposite of you. Opportunistic, loyalty fickle and always changing to serve no one but themselves.

In 1972, you nursed Miller back to health after his first, violent encounter with your Boss. It was then that he offered you, the kindhearted medic, a chance to join his new, superior outfit by helping him with his underhanded, and decidedly underwhelming scheme. Cornering the Boss. Trying to one-up him, kill him if necessary - though it would be preferable if Snake joined, of course. It would be such a waste otherwise, since he was clearly talented. Understatement of the century.

“What do you say?”

“I’ll think about it,” you’d said, your respect for Big Boss and his authority the only reason why you didn’t snap Miller’s neck right then and there.

When you reported Miller’s condition to Big Boss in his tent, you told him what their new prospective recruit was really planning in regards to those games that would determine whether or not he joined.

“I don’t understand what you even see in him. You know he’s going to -”

“I already figured,” he said casually, back turned to you, playing with one of his guns. Assembling and disassembling it.

“You figured that he would try to kill you, _twice_ ,” you replied, deadpan.

True, many of Big Boss’s allies had once been his enemies, but none of them had been as resolved to remain defiant as Miller - who would just keep going, unable to acknowledge defeat.

“He’s got some fight in him, I like that. It’s a lot more fun that way.”

You scowled at his back. You opened your mouth -

“I know what you’re going to say.” Big Boss turned around suddenly, approaching you with sweeping steps; he worked the slide of his pistol and poked the barrel into your hip - your hand reflexively reached for your combat knife, but Big Boss anticipated your move and smacked your wrist before you got a hold on anything. He steered you effortlessly, pushed you against the field table, covered in maps and radio equipment.

“Save it. I don’t care if you think I’m an idiot - you can leave anytime,” his hips pushed and ground against yours. The table dug into the small of your back while the gun was stabbing into your stomach, painfully. You gasped and braced yourself against the table, gripping the splintered edge.

Your heart thumped loudly in your throat. You’d never seen him act like this, with anyone, even at his most resolute and stubborn. Taking charge and forcing his will, without negotiation. Uncompromising, feral, _dominant_.

Your knees became weak when grabbed you by the scalp, yanked at your short hair to expose your throat, and for a moment you believed he was going bury his teeth in it like a predator taking down its prey.

“Do you want to leave?” He growled, and you responded with a unsteady sigh, having difficulties to maintain eye contact. It wasn’t the first time you’d fantasized about falling down to your knees to suck his cock, but right then, that fantasy was trapping your mind much like his broad frame was trapping yours.

“No sir,” you managed. You felt the steel barrel drag along your hips, further down, reaching the inside of your thigh. Your genitals, rapidly hardening. He breathed into you, but didn’t kiss you. He turned your head.

“Good,” Big Boss whispered darkly into your ear. “You’d be breaking my heart, Nate.”

He released you then, affectionately patted your thigh with the loaded gun, and holstered it. He left without another word, presumably to check up on Miller—soon to be commonly and affectionately referred to as _Kaz_ , to your chagrin, but it didn’t matter. Your head felt pleasantly light, and you heard the blood rushing through your ears. You were inexplicably aroused at this new discovery, unsure if it would remain an isolated incident.

_You don't know me at all._

_Then show me_.

You took a deep breath to collect yourself and process what had just happened, then disappeared into the wilderness to rub one out, your body rocked by the most satisfying climax you’d ever had… up to that point, anyway.

* * *

He subdued and kept Miller, and not long after, he asked you to step down from your position to instead head only the medical unit. You’d be lying if you said you understood your Boss’s reasoning at the time. His thought process was different from yours; where you wanted to keep any risk low, he sought to increase it. Your Boss wasn’t a stupid or naive man by any means, and assured you, more than once, that he was aware that Miller was not to be trusted, and that he had to be kept on a short leash.

You didn’t ask, but he still voluntarily revealed another reason to you: “He’s useful.”

“Useful?” You echoed, wrapping gauze and bandage around his biceps with a fondness you showed no one else. He came to you first after missions, readily presenting any injury he had sustained for you to treat. You were always alone and open during his visits, talking more - more intimately - than you did at any other time. You were his appointed doctor and he confided in you.

When he told you about his mentor, he told it like he was telling it the first time. You didn’t comment on that. It was common knowledge by that point anyway, even if the exact circumstances weren’t.

“Yeah. Good head for business. I don’t wanna deal with that side… besides, he’s not half bad with a rifle, and the guys like his attitude. Except for you, of course.”

“He’s good for profit and morale,” you summarized, and Big Boss nodded. You shook your head when he absentmindedly reached for his cigar case; he ultimately sighed and relented.

“Kaz is more sociable than I am. He takes - “

“ - some of the pressure off you?”

“Mm.”

You understood, though you doubted he would’ve given this sort of straightforward explanation to anyone else.

“You’re using him,” you said, indifferently, again reserving judgment. “For your own benefit.”

“It’s not like he’s not getting anything out of this ‘arrangement’. Guy loves the attention,” Big Boss shrugged, reaching for his cup of water to chug down the contents. He nearly choked when you gave him a stern look and asked, “Are you fucking him?”

“What?!”

“You said you’re keeping him on a short leash, and knowing you - “

“Why are you asking? It’s not - “

“For medical reasons. You don’t know what he might give you. Herpes, syphilis, HIV -”

Big Boss laughed, heartily. It wasn’t a joke on your part, but you knew him well enough by then - he never took these things seriously, and somewhere, deep inside his psyche, nested a drive for calculated self-destruction. You were still wary of it.

“You talk about him like he’s some sort of walking disease. You never change, do you?”

 _He is_ , you thought, but kept that to yourself. There were many other things you kept to yourself - how badly you wished for Big Boss to lie back and pull down his slacks so you could mount his dick. You knew he wasn’t celibate, not by a long shot, but for some reason he’d never made a move on you. Sometimes - no, most of the time the Boss’s visits to medical felt like torture, because he usually needed to dress down completely in order to be treated. He had a talent for sustaining injuries in the weirdest places.

Today it was just the upper part of his body. Thank god. Keeping your eyes off his torso was a challenge in itself, though.

“…You’re my commander,” you offered, diplomatically. You were glad you’d managed to lighten his mood, if anything.

Big Boss smiled at you. He was your commander, but you were his friend. The thought made your chest swell with pride.

“Tomorrow’s Peace Day,” you changed the topic, as you moved on to a laceration on his forehead. “Looking forward to it?”

“Kind of,” said Big Boss, closing his eye. He was tired after a long field mission, and had earned his rest. “There was something, by the way… not important… I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

* * *

You’d marked him. He had allowed - demanded you to mark him. To give him the pain he craved every day. It took you weeks to recover and accept. You were still learning, went deeper down the rabbit hole, your promise always at the back of your head. _I want to give you everything._

Diseases sometimes are contracted without an acute outbreak occurring, or the symptoms are slow to show, and within normal parameters. You couldn’t tell were that pain had started to come from, sitting tight at your chest, some days rising to your head.

* * *

You’d never really liked them, those monthly parties that Miller had introduced to celebrate birthdays - that was the official reason for them, anyway. Big Boss thought it a brilliant idea to boost morale, and they were effective in that regard, at least. You didn’t approve of the increase in patients during those nights however, because drunk soldiers were even more likely to start stupid fights than sober ones.

That was one reason why you usually spent those nights in the med bay, taking the liberty to assign yourself to night shift. The other was that you couldn’t tolerate Miller making a complete ass of himself, including his horrific attempts at singing.

It had nothing to do with the fact that you’d caught both of your commanders in the middle of drunken, sloppy makeouts a few months back, hidden away in one of the trucks’ cargo areas. Miller hadn’t even sounded like he’d enjoyed it. You tried not to think about it, more concerned with taking inventory of the med bay, to make sure you had a decent supply of everything. For emergencies.

You sighed when someone banged against the metal door, and you released the lock. First patient of the night, you assumed.

But Big Boss was not the one supporting a fellow soldier to the medical examination room - it was a soldier, face pale as a ghost, supporting a battered Big Boss. You frowned. It was common knowledge that he got into fights, sometimes. Usually with -

“Miller?” You asked the recruit, with cold professionalism.

“Uh, yeah. It was really hard to separate them. Miller’s being taken care of by Gorilla.”

They either fucked or beat each other senseless. Sometimes both at once, you were sure.

“I’ll take it from here,” you said, took Big Boss off your recruit - his weight too heavy for him anyway - and dismissed him with a quick salute.

But before he went, he whispered, “Just, um, be careful, okay? The Boss is being… difficult? I guess -” He gestured, helplessly, and you waved him off. You knew him.

Big Boss was eerily quiet. Pissdrunk too, given his gait; he could barely walk by himself. And the _smell_ \- disgusting. He didn’t get trashed often - he had that much foresight -, but when he did, it was bad, and he looked the part.

“I’m not going to lecture you,” you grouched as you sat him down on the exam table. You gave him a quick once-over - a couple of lacerations and bruises. His nose wasn’t broken, at least; you’ve set it at least four times already, and each time it ended up a little more skewed. Another four times and he’d need reconstructive surgery to keep looking like the same person.

“I know you don’t want to hear it. Not that you’d remember any of it in the morning, anyway.”

You went back to habitually lock the door again, mentally going through a checklist of med supplies you’d have to get from the cabinet and its drawers.

When you turned around again, Big Boss stood right in front of you, blocking your path. The look he gave you in the half-light made your blood run cold. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw his hand come up between you, catching your collar in a fist.

“Boss, what - “

You never got to finish that question, because Big Boss hurled you straight into the medical cabinet, glass and vials shattering to the ground together with you, following the devastating and disorienting impact.

He had never attacked you without warning. Never outside of combat practice. His actions sent you reeling, in more ways than one.

 _But I know him_ , it echoed through your head, you’d been so convinced.

_Do you really?_

Shards of glass dug into your palms, soon bleeding, when you pushed against the ground, but Big Boss pulled you up faster. His fist connected with your jaw, and you staggered backwards. There was no time to make sense of this, but you could hold your own, even against the Boss - and especially when he was intoxicated. You dodged his next attack, and countered with CQC techniques he had personally taught you. But you mistakenly thought he would play by the rules - exchange blows as you always did - so he easily caught you off-guard when he slammed you into the ground again, pinning you down by wrapping both of his hands around your throat; the brunt of his weight bearing down and squeezing the air out of you.

“Fucking - fuck - what is - _wrong_ \- with - you…”

You pulled at his wrists and hit his shoulder with your flat palm, trying to signal him to stop as you usually did when you sparred.

“Nothing,” Big Boss said, voice slightly slurred. “Having second thoughts? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, boy. I really tried to be nice to you.”

His thumbs framed your Adam’s apple, the balls massaging your windpipe rhythmically - like you weren’t about to die if he didn’t let up soon. Your eyes widened, staring at him with terror, no choice but to listen to his monologue.

“But you… you keep giving me that look.” He clicked his tongue, disparaging, when you tried to say something. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Like you’re waiting for something… there’s something you want. Is this what you had in mind? I guess not, hm? That’s too bad. But kids don’t understand that the stove is hot until they burn themselves.”

When you were at the verge of passing out, his weight finally lifted, but he’d drained all energy from you. You gasped for air, struggling weakly beneath him, the combined smell of the overbearing alcohol and leaking vials nauseating.

He tore at your uniform crudely, exposing you - you tried to bat as his hands when he undid your belt and got rid off your pants, but it was a useless effort. When you attempted to sit up, he picked up a particularly large shard of glass, pressing the sharp tip right into your throat, and said, “Don’t move.”

You screamed soundlessly when his fingers were jammed between your legs and violently shoved up your asshole, dry. You bit down on your tongue, blood in your mouth if not yet staining your throat.

The situation was overwhelming and dizzying, but you realized, at the time, what was happening.

“C’est bien, ma chère… it’s alright, sshh…”

He was raping you. Wasn’t he? His voice at your ear told you otherwise, as his fingers kept pushing, forcing you open.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said. “Beg me. I know you want to beg. It’s alright, I forgive you for lying to me. Pain gets the better of us all, and you’re no different. I know you want to be special, but you’re really not.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. Those words - having to listen to that - it hurt more than the punches, the glass, the fingers violating you.

“Beg me,” Big Boss growled, lowly. “ _Now_ , Nathan. You need to cry and beg for this to end. Come on, I know you want to - “

_You don't know me at all._

You shook your head. You’d made a promise and you intended to keep it. Who would you be if you didn’t?

“Do whatever you want,” you wheezed and swallowed, feeling the shard cut shallowly into your skin. “Use me like you use _Kaz_. Make it hurt. I’ll stay.”

It was your encouragement that made him hesitate. He stared at you, the tears that had started to spill, a stark contrast to your words and thighs, drifting apart on their own.

You kept learning about him, discovering new sides of him. This time it was his turn to be taken aback. His surprise settled fast, melted into faint amusement when he narrowed his eyes, tossing aside the shard and pulling out of you.

“…Oh, I see,” he chuckled. “You’re that sort. Living a lie…”

Big Boss dismounted you, and stood. You followed, scrambled to your knees, bracing yourself against his thighs.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head. It was the first time you saw the scar you’d given him - mostly healed, but still red where you'd stitched him close. His hands wandered lower, to his belt, unclasping it. Pulling out his dick, already hard and throbbing. Aroused by the abuse he inflicted on you.

“Never,” you promised, when he grabbed your head, to pull your mouth onto his cock and sheathe it in your throat. He wasn’t gentle, didn’t give you time to get used to him and his size - he took, and forced, and claimed, slamming his hips against your face in a steady, brutal rhythm.

Your gagging and tears had no effect on him or the way he violated you. His cock was too big for you to accommodate, but filled your throat anyway, pushing out the air. This wasn’t how you had imagined this to go - in your fantasies, you’d crawled all over Big Boss, sucked his cock slowly, indulging yourself, right before he would flip you onto your stomach to take you. Always in charge, all the while exuding nothing but grace.

There was nothing graceful about this, the way he fucked your throat, reducing you to nothing but an orifice. No dignity.

“Slut,” you heard him say, somewhere above. “I see you getting hard. This gets you off, doesn’t it?”

It did. You couldn’t breathe, but your cock was pulsing and growing, spurting precum steadily. You pushed back to fill your lungs with much needed air, and Big Boss’s wet cock slapped against your cheek.

“I’m not, I’m - “

Spit flowed from your lips and chin when you tried to speak, and you needed to swallow repeatedly to find your voice again.

“Don’t lie,” Big Boss reminded you. “You’re my slut. You crave this. It’s what you wanted all along - for me to treat you like what you really are.”

“Yes,” you slurred. _If no one is going to tell you the truth, I will._ “Please.”

You fell forward when Big Boss stepped back, right into the shards crunching beneath his boots, adding to the gashes you already had. “Please,” you repeated yourself, desperate.

Big Boss took a seat and leaned back, gesturing towards his lap. His erect cock bounced slightly with the movement and pointed towards the ceiling, glistening with your saliva. You understood. _Show me_ , he said, without words.

You dragged yourself over to him and climbed onto his lap, facing him. While you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, he positioned your ass to line it up with his prick, and you slammed your hips down almost instantly. Needily.

The pain was excruciating, but it was unimportant. You rode him with abandon, grinding your hips together doggedly, and you wept the whole way through - even now, you can’t tell if it was joy, relief, or the pain doing this to you. You were high on him. Nothing else mattered. You wanted to prove it to him.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you groaned, and Big Boss started to meet your motions the instant he bit into your shoulder. It wasn’t a playful bite - it was enough to make you scream into his shoulder in turn, and draw a mouthful of your blood. Enough to leave a scar. His teeth in your flesh _burned_. “Boss, I wanted… I wanted this… oh fuck… “

His cock reached so _deep_. He pushed you back by your bruised throat, and you moaned with lust when you looked at him. Your blood was on his lips and teeth, smeared around his jaw, and the sight made your own cock glow and throb.

He was the wolf and you were the meal.

“I will keep my promise,” you swore, breathlessly, slamming your hips down harder, faster. He kissed you hungrily, and you tasted your own blood on his lips and tongue. You ran your fingers aimlessly through his mussed hair, holding onto him. You clenched your muscles to coax out his seed, to milk his cock. “I promise - !”

You would never forget the sound he made when he came for you. How it felt when he pulsed inside you; leaving a part of himself _inside you_.

His hand stroked you idly, until you spurted over the scar you had given him, your body trembling from release and exhaustion both.

You massaged the back of his stiff neck and basked in your afterglow when you drowsily whispered into his ear.

“Je t’aime,” you confessed in your own tongue, but you’re not sure what he answered - if he answered you at all.

But you know he took care of you that night, when the both of you wound down. Patched up your injuries while you patched up his, two dogs licking their wounds. You fell asleep in your own bed, feeling used and content.

* * *

“Mind if I sit?” Big Boss asked you the next day, joining your table in the mess hall during lunch. You nodded, and he placed down his tray, pulling back the chair opposite of you. You figured he’d want to talk. You were still sore, but your excitement over recent developments outweighed the lingering pain by far.

He trusted you. More than a doctor or a friend. More than Kaz.

That’s what you thought, anyway. “About last night…” you began, but Big Boss cut you off.

“I didn’t come here for a belated lecture,” he gruffed. “I know, alright. You told me at least a hundred times - _keep your temper in check, Boss!_ Spare me this time, okay? I’m sore enough as it is.”

Your expression fell.

“What?”

“I was about to check how Kaz is doing, but I’ve been told that he’s really mad this time. Is it my turn to apologize, do you think?”

“I, uh …”

“Shit,” he cussed, poking his spoon into the brown glob that was supposed to be chili. “You know what, fuck it. I’ll just go and get it over with.”

He rose again before he’d even started to eat. You were at a loss for words.

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

“What else? … Look, I’m sorry about making you work that late at night again, but I thought you knew me by now. I’ll talk to you later.”

And, just like that, Big Boss was on his way to the other side of the mess hall, looking for Miller. Leaving you to yourself. Brooding.

Swallowing down the mounting anger. _It_ _’s not his fault_ , you tried to remind yourself. _He was drunk. He forgets easily. He -_

You wanted to scream, but no sound came out of your throat, fucked raw.

* * *

The rest is fuzzy. You don’t remember if he ever came to your bed again, afterwards. It feels that way - taking your affection and willingness to provide warmth to him for granted, even if he doesn’t remember you ever offering it. You kept watching him, studying the details. Something had changed. You weren’t sure what.

Do you believe me?

i’m you’re just the voice in your my head

* * *

When you wake up, a body is lying next to you. In the dim light, you make the person out as Big Boss, your master and lover. You turn to lay on your side, and touch your cold, mechanical fingers to his cheek. He’s sleeping soundly. It’s rare. You watch him for a while, as you always do.

Then he opens his eyes. The one is milky white and unseeing. He lied.

“Sleep, V,” he says.

“Yes,” you reply.

 


End file.
